Arrows
by OutlawHeart
Summary: Maena may not be a Stark, but her heart is in the North. When she is asked to go South with Lord Stark, and Jon Snow goes North to the Wall, what odds will she face to get back to him once more?
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

She had come to love the road; the whisper of leaves, the murmuring talk of her guard, and the steady clopping of hooves. They had only been gone a fortnight and already her old home and her old life seemed a fog in her mind. The road was her life now, the saddle her home. At least, that's what she imagined as she and her company made their way ever north. She had never seen Winterfell, had nothing to look forward to, or anything to look back on, so her thoughts remained on the distance between.

The only memory she kept was the sound of the river lapping endlessly along the banks of the village and the cliffs of Heart's Home. The sound buggered her like an insect about her ear. She hummed the old tunes as they rode, just to drown it out. Songs of Jonquil and Florian, of the warrior queen Nymeria. She learned new songs too, from the inns folk and the men at the various castles they had stopped at along their journey; from The Eyrie and Strongsong and from all the villages in between.

Evening was approaching on the last day of their travel. They had left Castle Cerwyn at dawn's first light. The last stretch of their journey was only half a day's ride to Winterfell, but they moved slowly; burdened by the trunks and packages that held all of Maena's belongings. She swayed easily in her saddle. Her guard, six men including her uncle, Ser Lyn Corbray, had marveled at her resilience. A mere girl of eleven, she rode a horse as well as any and never complained. She slept on the hard earth without tent when there were no inns. She ate little and never tired, and much to the amusement of her company; she rode with a bow strapped to her back.

The bow had been given to her by her uncle, Ser Lucas. The man had become like a father to her after her own father's death. She was told Ser Lucas looked much like him, and from what little she could remember it was true. He was broad and strong with hair the color of tree bark and a beard to match. He had taught her archery in the yards of Heart's Home with his sons, who were much older than she.

Atop his shoulder, she had learned the ins and outs of the castle, which she was told had once been beautiful, but had lost its opulence along with the wealth of the house. The castle stood on a cliff, wrapped by a little village and a curved bridge over the river. The walls were white-washed plaster and mortared stone, veined with creeping plants and dotted with blue-shuttered windows. Small though it was there were many orange-shingled roofs and peaks and atop the keep flew their banners; three ravens carrying hearts on a white field.

On the day of her mother's death, Maena had been hiding out in the cliffs where no one ever bothered her. She had been staring out over the river, imagining the shorelines of the Fingers, grasping for the Narrow Sea. The whole of the castle had gone searching for her, but it was her Uncle, Ser Lyn, who spotted her. With his long limbs, he scaled the cliff easily. She feared he would scold her, but his angry eyes were betrayed by uncharacteristic sadness. "Come along now little one," he had said.

Maena often thought of her mother as she rode; of her own journey from Redfort, through the mountains of the Vale and finally to Heart's Home, where she married Maena's father Liam, the youngest of the Corbray brothers, just before the battle of the Trident. She was tall and slender, with auburn hair; Redfort red the people called it.

But Lady Corbray, who had once been strong as the stones of the Redfort, had been chiseled away by sickness. When Ser Lyn brought Maena to her mother's sickroom, there had been no one there save the Maester, a bent back old man who seemed ever burdened by the chains around his neck.

"I fear she will not last the night," the Maester had said, "go to her child."

The glow of the setting sun had laid softness about her mother's gaunt face. The light played off the fire of her hair, which lay in limp curls about her pillow. For one moment Maena's heart had soared, believing her mother to be well again, but just as quickly the sun was cloaked by a passing cloud, and Lady Corbray had grown thin and pale and sick once more. The thought made Maena shiver and suddenly a voiced brought Maena back to the road.

"Milady, look you can see the town, just there," said her uncle's young squire, Mychel, pointing ahead to a cluster of tiny shadows in the distance. Beyond it, Maena saw the dark loom of Winterfell and the trees she knew to be called the Wolfswood.

The company quickened their pace as they approached; stopping long enough for Maena to change and make herself presentable, before leaving behind the Kings Road and taking the path through the village. She had chosen a simple green gown and black cloak, clasped by a raven on one side, and a heart on the other. Still, she felt itchy and uncomfortable as the people of Winter Town stared at their passing procession.

The gates were marked by the Direwolf banner of house Stark; the house to which she was now a ward, or would be soon enough. The gates swung open without word as they approached. Inside a small crowd had gathered to welcome them, but Maena was too afraid to look. Instead, she concentrated on the red leaves of the Weirwoods, peeking out from the Godswood where the north prayed. _Will I be expected to pray to the old gods too?_ She wondered.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The evening sky was growing dark, its inky hand stretching over the rusted sky. Maena stood at the edge of the Wolfswood, bow in hand, watching the fog of her breath disappear in quick puffs. She stood for a moment and soaked up the cold air, biting at her reddened cheeks and ears. Her deep brown hair, hinted with auburn, was twisted in a braid that fell over her shoulder.

At length, the stillness was broken by distant voices and the shuffle of leaves and snapping twigs underfoot. Maena turned around, looking blindly beyond the twisted branches and darkness of the Wolfswood until she caught two shadows taking form. "Mae? Where's she got off to now?" She heard one say to the other. A moment later they emerged, ruddy faced and panting.

"You two better hurry up if you want supper," Mae joked.

"Well we gave you a good head start," said Robb, grinning as he reached up for the branches of a low hanging tree. Behind him, Jon breathed a laugh. They'd been out all afternoon, and dusk had come upon them suddenly. Mae attempted a scowl, unsuccessfully.

At first she had been hopeless; wincing with every strike of the sword, hardly looking at whichever brother stood against her. Robb was easier on her, though quicker to give her a whack or two if she missed a step. Jon was unyielding but patient; he never shouted or laughed at her and if, in a fit of frustration, Maena threw her sword to the ground, he would simply place the ungainly thing back into her hand and they'd be at it again.

The boys may have given up on her, if not for her skill with a bow. She took to it naturally, and was already as good a shot as any. On this night, Jon carried with him a string of fowl that Maena had shot down. She did not delight in killing without reason, and everything they shot during their training was promptly given to the cooks, or else handed off to the people of Winter Town.

"It's alright," Jon said at length. He handed the dangling birds to Robb and dusted off his gloves, "We'll carry her the rest of the way." Mae had hardly enough time to brace herself before Jon swept her from her feet with one movement and threw her over his shoulder.

"You let me down, Jon Snow!" She cried.

"Can't have you slowing us down, sorry Mae," Jon said plainly, giving her back end a brisk pat, Robb laughed from somewhere behind them. With difficulty, Maena managed to take hold of the end of Jon's cloak. Pulling herself up, she threw the garment over his eyes and wriggled free of his grasp. Landing lightly on the grass, she turned and ran toward the Hunter's Gate.

Dinner had begun already by time they reached the Great Hall, which was largely empty save two long tables before the dais where Lord and Lady Stark were seated. They took seats next to the rest of the Stark children. Jon mussed up Arya's already untidy brown hair as he sat down next to her. On the opposite side of the scrubbed, wooden table Mae gave Bran a quick pat on the shoulder and squeezed in beside him. Bran, in turn, inched little Rickon over to make room.

Robb sat down last, having thoroughly lost the race, though he had only stopped by the kitchens for a moment, brusquely dropping off the string of lifeless fowl. He snatched up a chicken leg from Sansa's plate, laughing as he chewed it. Sansa's eyes lowered at the lot of them, and she scooted away toward doe-eyed Jeyne Pool, who didn't seem to think Robb was anything less than dashing, despite his poor manners and disheveled auburn hair.

Servants came with fresh plates for the three newcomers. Mae took a crust of bread and tossed it under the table for an old mutt at her feet. The dog pawed it lazily and took it up in her peppered snout.

"Where have you three been all afternoon?" Arya asked. Maena did not respond, but gave Arya a wry smile and a wink. Maena's training was by no means prohibited, but it was certainly not looked highly upon. Arya was in on the secret, and sometimes joined them in the wood. No one else paid them any mind; Maena had always shadowed the boys, or else they shadowed her.

"They've been off in the Wolfswood, playing with swords." Theon Greyjoy was smiling from where he stood, a mug of mead in hand.

"Thank you for that, Theon." Mae turned in her seat, fixing him with a hard glace.

"A lady shouldn't mess around with swords," Sansa sniped from halfway down the table.

"Maena's no lady," Robb jested, wrapping a lazy arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sure her Uncles will be thrilled to hear of it. Or did you think they'd forgotten you? I'm sure they'd fetch a good price for you, Gods know they need it," said Theon.

"Shut your mouth, Greyjoy," Jon growled.


End file.
